—You do not need magic for this.
“What do you mean?” he whispered.
Heritage rattled in its scabbard.
—Hold me and blink.
Pulling the sword free, Aidan’s hands shook as much from the effort of holding Heritage as from fear. Then he blinked. The world was awash in bright white light, the vagrants sketched in obsidian outlines. He felt his feet shift and looked down. His stance had changed, balancing his weight. He didn’t remember moving, but the stance felt natural, appropriate. The Wardsman now looked anything but natural. Their human faces had vanished, replaced by leering skulls dotted with flesh and dirt.
—Aim for their heads. No other blow can stop them.
The vagrants dropped into defensive stances of their own and split, each moving to flank him. The one on his right lunged in. Aidan parried its attack almost offhandedly, swatting it aside and keeping his focus on the second one that continued to circle. How he had anticipated the move, he couldn’t say. Spinning Heritage, Aidan drove his shoulder into the creature’s stomach. The blow sent it stumbling back as he whirled and slashed at the neck of the other vagrant. Heritage cleaved through rotten skin as if it were water. The head tumbled to the ground, settling a short distance away. The body crumpled soundlessly.
He turned to advance on the vagrant he had forced back. The creature swung its axe down. Aidan darted to one side, preparing to lunge back in.
—Behind you!
He felt a boot plant itself in his lower back. He toppled over, Heritage disappearing in a bank of snow. Instantly his vision returned to normal. A third Wardsman stepped from the shadows as Aidan lay groaning.
“Tell the master we have him,” one said. Its partner nodded, turned away, and stiffened. A spear burst through the back of its skull. The shaft tore free and the vagrant dropped, dead again.
Aidan didn’t know who had come to his rescue, and he didn’t care. He grabbed Heritage from where it had fallen beside him and blinked, barely aware of his vision returning to onyx outlines against a white field. Rising smoothly to his feet, he brought Heritage slicing across the neck of the last vagrant. It jerked, went limp, and fell.
He watched with wonder as the white glow receded, returning the world to its natural color. Exhaustion traded places with the vigor that took hold of him when he wielded the sword—which suddenly weighed as much as four blades.
Daniel stood in front of him, staring in shock at the vagrant he’d slain. The lower half of his spear, splintered in the center where it had snapped off in the vagrant’s skull, trembled in his grip. Daniel dropped it but didn’t seem to notice.
Aidan sheathed Heritage before reaching for Daniel’s shoulder. At his touch the Wardsman yelped and leaped back.
“It’s just me,” Aidan said, raising his hands.
Daniel relaxed. “Aidan,” he croaked, toeing the lopsided face of the first one he had killed. The human mask had torn free and hung loosely like molted skin. “What are those things?”
“Sallnerians. Well, they’re called vagrants, but...” He shook his head, too tired to explain.
Daniel nodded as if the answer made complete sense. His eyes widened when he saw the sword at Aidan’s side. “I saw you fight, Aidan. Some of those maneuvers would have made your father envious. But—and no offense—I’ve seen blind men swing more steadily than you.”
“I...” Aidan paused. He could see himself wielding the sword, weaving in and out of the reach of the vagrants’ weapons, but it was as though he’d watched the battle rather than participated in it. He could see the movements, but he didn’t understand how he had performed them. “I guess I just swung and hoped for the best.” How in the Lady’s name did I do all that?
—Not now. Also, watch your language.
Aidan laughed helplessly.
“Are you all right?” Daniel asked, looking at him warily.
Aidan got control of himself. “Yes. Just thankful to be alive, I guess.”
“Same here.”
“Thank you, Daniel,” Aidan said, his tone serious.
“Any time,” Daniel said, forcing a grin onto his face.
Nodding, Aidan turned to leave.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to go away.”
“Your mother just issued orders that you are to be arrested on sight. Patrols are looking for you everywhere. And now these things...” He trailed off, gesturing at the vagrants. “What’s going on, Aidan?”
“My mother? How long ago did you see her?”
Daniel shrugged. “Not long ago. Have you seen her?”
“Sort of,” Aidan said absently. What does he mean, do you think? My real mother, or another vagrant?
—Your real mother wouldn’t order you arrested. It’s likely that another creature already impersonates her and is looking for you. Say nothing of this to Daniel. Act natural.
Aidan didn’t see how that was possible at this point. “Did my mother explain to you why I’m to be arrested?”
“She told the search party that you assaulted your father,” Daniel said. “I volunteered to search, hoping I could find you before anyone else did.”
Aidan said nothing.
Daniel cleared his throat. “I’ve known you a long time, Aidan. I’d like to think I know you better than anyone. And I know that whatever happened to bring you to this place, right here and right now—well, you must’ve had a good reason. Wherever you have to go, and whatever you have to do, I’m with you.”
“You can’t come with me.”
“Why not?”
“I’m in trouble, Daniel. I—”
Daniel shrugged. “I’ve been in trouble before.”
“My own parents want me arrested for treason. If you come with me, you’ll be hunted, too. I can’t let that happen.”
His friend shrugged again. “I don’t care.”
Aidan sighed. “I appreciate—”
Daniel raised a hand. “You’re my friend. Whatever is happening to you, you need help. You can’t do this alone. I’m going with you.”
Chewing his lip, Aidan said, “Give me a moment.” What should I do? he sent to the sword.
—What you said was the truth: he will be in danger with you.
Aidan nodded. “I can’t let you come with me.”
“Funny,” Daniel said with a small smile. “I don’t remember asking for your permission. You need my help, O Mighty Prince. I’m going with you, and that’s that.”
Aidan looked at the sword, back to Daniel, and shrugged. Privately, he was thrilled. The idea of leaving everything he had ever known behind with only a talking sword for company had not exactly filled him with confidence. He started toward the gate leading down the east pass.
“We’ll probably encounter more of them along the trail,” Aidan said.
“That’s why we’re not taking the trail.”
Aidan started to ask what Daniel meant then yawned, his jaw cracking. Daniel motioned for him to follow. At the far side of the courtyard, Daniel bent over a stone bench.
“Help me with this, would you?”
Aidan’s arms felt as wobbly as his legs, but together they pushed the bench to one side. Daniel knelt, brushed away snow to reveal a slab of stone that made up part of the path that meandered through the courtyard, then, grunting, lifted it and set it to one side, revealing a square-shaped hole.
“What is that?” Aidan asked, crouching beside his friend.
“Just a tunnel I found once,” Daniel said casually.
“Where does it lead?”
“Into Calewind, right near the south gate. We might have our hands full when we get there, but I’d rather crawl on my belly like a worm than go down that pass. Nowhere to hide along the trail, right?”
“Right.”
Daniel eased himself into the hole feet-first. “Come on, then,” he called softly. Aidan went in and blinked in the dim light that Kahltan sent from high overhead. Ahead, Daniel moved in a crouch. Aidan followed. A
few minutes later Daniel stopped and rapped against the rough wall to the left. Dirt and dust fell away as the wall slid to one side. They emerged in an alley near the south gate, just as Daniel had said. Aidan hid while Daniel approached the pylon looking out over the city, and the open country on the other side of the wall. A Wardsman opened the door, looked around, then waved him in. Silence for a few moments, then grunts followed by heavy thuds. Daniel peeked out the door and waved Aidan forward.
Aidan stepped over the bodies carefully. Then he recognized the men who had led him out of the city on his birthday. “Did you...?” He swallowed, unable to continue.
Daniel shook his head. “They’ll be fine.” He led them outside. “Where are we headed?”
“South.” Aidan thought about explaining, but Daniel was already walking.
“Then to the south we go.”
Aidan stepped forward. A moment later, blackness overtook him, and he felt an icy sting spread over his face.
“Are you all right?” Daniel asked, hauling Aidan up from a pile of snow.
“What happened?” Aidan asked, brushing ice and slush from his face.
“You fell over,” Daniel said. “Are you ill?”
“Tired,” he mumbled.
Daniel hoisted Aidan’s arm around his shoulder. “We’ve got to get moving.” Lips thinning, he studied the thick clouds hanging above them. As a Leastonian, Daniel could read the sky as easily as Torelian scholars drank in books. “We need to get moving. Can you walk?”
Aidan wobbled slightly, but gestured that he would be fine. “All right,” Daniel said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 14
Fire and Fishing Lines
SNOW BEGAN SPRINKLING DOWN less than an hour later. At first, Aidan and Daniel ignored it. They had decided to keep clear of the North Road, huffing and puffing between hilltops and picking through stretches of woods. When they crested a hilltop that overlooked the village of Gotik, Daniel asked Aidan if he wanted to stop. He proposed sneaking into the city and taking shelter in a stable, just for the night.
Aidan, bent over and wheezing, did want to stop. He wanted nothing more than to curl up right there on the hilltop and sleep. But they didn’t. Gotik was too close to Calewind. Aidan would almost certainly be recognized there. Daniel cast a nervous glance at the clouds and nodded. They steered clear of Gotik’s walls and ran on.
Within another hour, Aidan severely regretted his decision. The wind picked up, howling and stinging their ears. The curtain of snowflakes turned into a blinding torrent of stinging darts. Squinting against the onslaught, Aidan slogged forward. Ahead of him, Daniel bent into the wind, his cloak streaming out behind him like a cape.
Stopping, Aidan shouted at Daniel to halt, but the wind smothered him, stealing words and breath. He turned his head and gasped in air, wishing he had a smidgen of light to draw so he could wrap his friend and himself in heat bubbles. He looked this way and that in search of shelter, but the snow hid everything beyond arm’s length. For all he knew he was standing right in front of a copse of trees or a village.
He started forward again, calling to Daniel that he hadn’t seen anything yet. He waited for a reply, but none came. Peering about frantically, Aidan felt his chest grow even colder. Daniel was nowhere in sight.
“Daniel? Daniel!”
The wind’s shrill cry drowned out each call. He turned this way and that, but everywhere he looked revealed only blinding, numbing whiteness. Perhaps Daniel was looking for him. He stopped, pivoting about so he would be sure to see Daniel when he came into view. If he came into view.
I’m never going to find him. We’ll both die out here, and it’s my fault.
—Look behind you.
Whipping around, Aidan saw nothing but a swirling, stinging wall of white.
“Where?”
—Walk forward.
When Aidan hesitated, Heritage hummed at his waist.
—The Eye of Heritage can see clearly, even in this storm. Do not fear, Aidan.
Raising an arm to shield his face, he trekked forward.
—Turn left.
He changed directions at once. As he walked forward, he made out a dim shape in the distance. At first, he thought it might be nothing more than a tree, but as he moved closer he realized the unlikely odds of a tree being able to call his name.
Daniel spotted him and ran forward. The friends grasped arms and loosed triumphant and grateful shouts that were instantly spirited away.
Daniel jutted his finger at a point in the distance and beckoned for Aidan to follow. They broke into a slow, trudging run, practically hopping through knee-high snow. Daniel stumbled and fell, stamping the snowy ground with a man-shaped imprint. Aidan hauled him up and they continued forward.
A cave slowly materialized in the distance. Its maw was short but wide. They had to crawl through the opening. The walls fell back and the ceiling rose gradually as the passage sloped downward. They emerged in a grotto as dark as a starless sky. Aidan was aware of Daniel’s presence only by the scuffs of his boots against stones.
Heritage rattled at his side. Looking down, he was delighted to see a red glow from the eye that peeled back the darkness. Raising the sword above his head, he saw walls slick with ice and a rough, uneven floor. A strange design, like a V set inside another V, was scratched into the wall near the opening they had crawled through. Aidan gave it a glance then ignored it, diverting his attention to a more interesting and crucial discovery. A few paces ahead lay a pile of sticks. A tinderbox rested nearby.
Daniel scooped up the box and fumbled at it. Cold made his fingers shaky and stiff. Aidan crouched beside him and held the sword out like a torch. Daniel turned to the fire and struck flint to steel over and over. Cursing, he tossed them aside and hugged his arms over his body.
“Won’t light,” he chattered.
Aidan nodded, wondering why his own teeth weren’t chattering.
“Can you make fire?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I’m so tired.”
“Try?” Daniel pleaded.
With a slow, heavy nod, Aidan understood why he didn’t feel the cold as keenly as before. Exhaustion was settling over him like a blanket, warm and inviting. He shook his head roughly. If he fell asleep now, they would both freeze to death.
“I need light,” he said. He raised the lamp from his neck but the vial was still empty. “There’s no light,” he said, panic creeping in.
“It’s all right,” Daniel said, trying to smile. He picked up the flint and steel with trembling hands, struck them together feebly, cursed, and tossed them aside before picking up two twigs.
“A spark? Can you work with a spark?” Daniel asked.
“That should be plenty,” Aidan said.
Pressing his lips together in concentration, Daniel ground the sticks together. The minutes stretched on like hours without so much as a hint of smoke.
Aidan closed his eyes. We’re going to die in here. Kahltan take me, I shouldn’t have let Daniel come along.
—If you need fire, Aidan, all you need to do is ask.
Aidan blinked dumbly at the sword. You can do that?
—Not me. Not exactly. Others. Have Daniel replace the twigs, then raise the sword and make your request.
Aidan relayed the sword’s request. Lifting Heritage, Aidan thought, Fire. Um... please.
All at once the strangest sensation settled over him. A breeze caressed his hand, but it was not soft. It was rough, like a hand calloused from hard labor. The scent of sawdust, fresh earth, and pine tickled his nose. A streak of flame as thin as a rod burst from the Eye of Heritage, striking the wood and setting it aflame. Daniel shouted and leaped away but recovered quickly, whooping with joy and scooting close to warm his hands over the roaring bonfire.
As quickly as it had occurred, the sensation faded. The Eye went dark. The scent of the outdoors, like a dish made of nature’s finest ingredients, faded away, surrendering to the cave’s natural ar
oma of earth and ice.
—Better? the sword asked.
Aidan didn’t say anything. The smell of dirt and sawdust, the touch of a rough hand guiding his... It was as if his Grandfather Charles had settled behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other lifting his tired arm to help and support. History painted Charles a stern king, but a fair one, and beloved by his people. Aidan couldn’t attest to any of that. Charles had passed Heritage to Annalyn long before Aidan was born. He had only known his grandfather as a happy man quick to booming laughter and an avid outdoorsman. Charles had often smuggled Aidan away from lessons—and, later on, Daniel with him—for a day spent tromping through woods, splashing through streams, casting fishing lines, and carving toys and trinkets in his woodshop.
Once, Charles had packed a rucksack and taken Aidan on an extended camping trip. For three nights, they had camped out under Kahltan’s cold, pale gaze. Aidan had not been afraid. Not very afraid, anyway. Every night, Charles had made a fire and kept his grandson up telling stories: stories of Ambrose and his skill and bravery in battle against Dimitri Thalamahn; tales of Marvin, Ambrose’s grandson and a wild and scatterbrained inventor who had once blown a hole the size of an apple cart in one of Sunfall’s walls after an experiment involving barrels of Darinian ale and lots of fire; and plenty of stories that were not about anyone real at all. Those had been Aidan’s favorites. He had often wondered what it would have been like to sit in on a story told by both Tyrnen and his grandfather.
Charles had passed away when Aidan was twelve. Tyrnen, as much a part of Aidan’s life as his grandfather, had helped fill that void, but only to a small degree. Despite his gruff demeanor during studies, Tyrnen loved a good bout of fun as much as Charles. But he did not appreciate the smell of a crisp winter morning the way most people appreciated the aroma of a fine meal, nor could he carve toy wagons for Aidan, Daniel, and himself to race up and down Sunfall’s long corridors, laughing while attendants scurried out of their way. He loved Tyrnen, but Tyrnen was not his grandfather.
Heritage: Book One of the Gairden Chronicles Page 12
